Outlast The Others
by radishesandspectraspects
Summary: "All I have to do is outlast the others" she says. Little did Foxface know that surviving in the arena was going to be harder than she thought. This is the untold story of the hardships Foxface had to face in the arena of the 74th Hunger Games.
1. Who Needs Weapons?

There were still 30 seconds on the clock as I stood, shaking, on my pedestal. The cruel, monotone voice counting down the seconds to the deaths of many innocent teenagers and, perhaps, myself. I can almost see the people of the Capitol, with their fancy clothes and ugly wigs, eagerly awaiting the violence that follows. I wonder why they let their children watch this. I mean, I bet if this T.V. show had a rating, it would be in the 14A-R range.

I bite my lip as I study the arena. There are trees as far as the eye can see, and their lush green leaves are perhaps my greatest disadvantage. I nervously fiddle with a strand of my hair that had come loose from my double bun. My bright orange hair will stand out against the vegetation like blood stains in the snow. In my mind, I quickly run over my options. Of course, all of the Careers will head immediately for the Cornucopia, as well as those from the poorer districts that are dumb enough to try to get past them to score some weapons.

_Weapons_ I mused. Who needs weapons? Was I the only one who paid attention to the trainer? The majority of us will die from natural causes.

10 seconds on the clock. I look over and see the boy from my district gazing at the weapons pile. _Idiot._ The gong sounds. I dash off of my pedestal and skirt around to the far edge of the pile. My eyes latch onto a small backpack, ignoring the bloodbath to my right. I snatch up the backpack, and its weight surprised me. I sling it onto my back and sprint towards the woods. I look back. Luckily, that Clove girl is occupied with the fire girl and the rest of the Careers are too busy looking through weapons and skewering other tributes to pay much attention to me. I turn back just in time to see bread boy running into the woods. I silently laugh. I'm not worried about him, in fact, I bet he's going to be one of the first to go after the bloodbath back at the Cornucopia ends. The sound of the cannons signalling the death of another tribute rattles me out of my thoughts. I dash into the safety of the woods as fast as I could to put some distance between me and the other tributes. Little did I know that someone had spotted a streak of orange bolting into the trees...


	2. The Backpack and The Birds

When I reached the woods, I didn't stop. I kept on running. I knew that it was only a matter of time before someone would try to find me. After all, I did do really good in the wilderness survival stations back at the training centre. I smile as I remember the stunned looks on the other tributes' faces when I identify all of the edible plants and berries in record time. They didn't stand a chance.

I jump over a fallen log and land as softly as a cat on the forest floor. I have a tendency to run on the very tips on my toes, and when I run it looks as though I'm flying. At least, that's what I've been told.

When I think that I've put enough distance between me and the other tributes, I plop myself down on a log and sling my backpack off of my back. I hold it gingerly in my hands, knowing that it might make the very difference between life and death. I try to un-zip the zipper as quietly as I can, but the sudden noise still manages to scare several birds out of the bushes next to me. _Drat! Now the others will know exactly where I am!_

I hold my breath and listen intently for the sound of boots crunching through the leaves. When I hear nothing, I let out a huge sigh of relief.

I peer into the trees as a precaution. When I am satisfied that no one had noticed the birds, I turn my focus back to the pack. Inside, I find a loaf of bread, some matches, an empty water bottle, a small knife, and several bottles of paint. The paint must be for camouflage, but I was pretty much useless at that station. I sigh and begin to examine every pocket of the pack. I weigh it in my hands, and realize that it's still heavy. Excitedly, I rip through every pocket until I feel the satisfying coolness of metal and the smoothness of plastic. I gently lift the thing out of my backpack. A grin slowly spreads across my face as I realize what this thing is.


End file.
